


Deliver Us From Christmas Evil

by NeoVenus22



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Christmas, Gen, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-03
Updated: 2010-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-06 23:58:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which reindeer are discussed, Elizabeth gets the Christmas spirit, Teyla gets propositioned, and John learns a lot more about frogs than he really wanted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deliver Us From Christmas Evil

"I do not think I understand," said Teyla, a familiar phrase paired with a familiar contemplative frown.

John took the prerequisite deep breath, collected his thoughts, and tried to explain without sounding like he was being condescending. After all this time, he should have been used to working with someone who didn't always understand the most simplistic references that he usually took for granted. But to her credit, Teyla was always very patient in the presence of his pop culture-fueled rants. Whenever he got frustrated with needing to lay things out for her, John just reminded himself of all of Rodney's science talk, which went over his head more often than not. Rodney was to John as John was to Teyla, he rationalized, and put on a smile.

"Santa is a man," he said, "who flies a magical sleigh around the world one night a year and gives toys to all the kids."

"Except for the Jewish ones," Rodney cut in.

John got himself into the holiday spirit and resisted the urge to slap the man for not helping.

"He's not real, of course," Rodney continued, while John was practicing Zen. "It's a story parents tell their kids to get the kids to be good for a month. The parents are really giving the presents."

"Yes," said John, "but Santa isn't about presents, Rodney, he's about Christmas spirit and the power of myth."

"Oh, please don't give me that crock," Rodney said. "Christmas is all about capitalism."

"Rodney—" said a long-suffering Elizabeth. Her smile for Teyla was utterly patient, which was only fitting, because it was her idea in the first place. "In many parts of our world, there are variations on a myth of a magic man who wears a red suit and flies around the world once a year to give presents to good girls and boys."

"Does he have a puddlejumper?" Teyla asked. In her experience, only puddlejumpers and Wraith darts flew.

"No, he has a sled. It's pulled by ten reindeer—"

"Eight," corrected John.

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow at him ever so slightly. "Really? Are you sure?"

"It's eight," said John. "Nine if you count Rudolph."

"Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Dixon, Comet, Cupid..." Rodney recited.

"Vixen," Elizabeth said. "You're thinking of Dixon who works for the SGC."

"Well that seems unlikely. Are you sure there isn't a Dixon in the reindeer?" said Rodney, making his 'you've gotta be kidding me with this' face.

"Well, maybe he's one of those other two we forgot," John said, and maybe it came out sounding a little more snide than he'd planned.

"'Vixen' doesn't sound right to be telling children," said Rodney.

Rodney, of course, was the expert on 'what to tell children.' John ignored this bit of nonsense and merely finished the list with, "Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen."

"Donder," said Rodney.

"No," said John, "_donder_ is something that makes you break out in hives."

"That's _dander_," said Elizabeth.

"Whatever. The reindeer is Donner," said John.

"Don_der_," said Rodney. "Trust me."

"Trust you? You thought one of them was named Dixon!"

"The rest of them have names starting with D, why not?"

"Don't forget Rudolph," said Elizabeth.

"I was the one who brought up Rudolph in the first place," said John.

"What are we talking about?" said Ronon, showing up in the doorway to Elizabeth's office and casting a giant shadow over the floor.

"I do not know," said Teyla, looking hopelessly confused. "What is a reindeer?"

"Oh, Nielsen was telling me about them," said Ronon, before John had an opportunity to explain. "It's a kind of animal. Tastes good, he said."

John made a face. "Nielsen eats reindeer?" he said.

"He probably eats them raw," said Rodney. "Have you seen the man? He'll eat anything that isn't nailed down."

"Unlike you," said John, ignoring Rodney's indignant look. "Anyway, Teyla, like I was saying, there's another reindeer, Rudolph, who has a red blinky nose that lets Santa see in from of him at night. Like headlights."

"How does his sled fly, though?" she said, and clearly, throwing Rudolph in the mix had been a bad idea, because she hadn't moved past the flight part. "Does it have engines?"

"No, it flies by magic," he attempted to explain.

"It's not _real_," Rodney tried again.

"Why is he secret?" she said, and suddenly John remembered the crazy idea that had all brought them into Elizabeth's office in the first place. He cast their ringleader a helpless look.

"He's not. Secret Santa is a tradition where we come from," she tried, "sort of a game. Everyone puts their name into a hat, and then you draw someone's name, and you leave them little presents and clues, and try to see if they can figure out who you are. It's fun."

"It sounds very... interesting, Dr. Weir," Teyla said, but her smile wasn't the indulgent one that John was used to when he tried to explain for the fifth time the concept of horror movies and being scared for fun. She seemed almost excitable. "I would like to participate, if you will allow me."

Elizabeth looked like... well, 'kid on Christmas morning' seemed seasonally appropriate. She was under the impression that running a Secret Santa campaign would help the morale of the expedition members not making a _Daedalus_ trip home for the holidays. John didn't want to break her heart by pointing out the practicality issue, and the fact that they didn't have a mall at which to go stocking stuffer-shopping. So instead, he was stuck in this planning meeting with Elizabeth, Rodney, and Teyla, trying to explain bizarre Earth customs to aliens for the hundredth time.

"Teyla, we'd love to have you join in," Elizabeth said delightedly. "You too, Ronon. And any Athosian who might be interested."

"If I may, Elizabeth," Rodney huffed, "the whole concept behind Secret Santa is, well, _secrecy_. Not to exclude the Athosians from this, but doesn't it make it horribly obvious if the same jumper is flying to the mainland every day to hide a candy cane in someone's bread?"

"I think the concept may be a little much for my people at the moment," Teyla said diplomatically, every word slowly erasing the lines that Rodney had furrowed in Elizabeth's brow. "Relocating to this planet upended so many lives, and I do not want to impose too many changes on them."

Elizabeth nodded. "Of course. We'll consider your participation a trial run, then. Ronon?" She glanced up at the hulking man with bright eyes and an equally enticing smile. But he shook his head.

"Not really my thing," he said shortly.

"I understand," said Elizabeth without missing a beat, but disappointment radiated out from her in waves. She was clearly deeply invested in this, and John wondered when she'd become their Ghost of Christmas Present.

The seasonal spirit was apparently catching, however. After the committee had agreed on the festivities and word had spread, there were a good thirty-plus people participating in the event, most of them in the science department. John had visions of getting incomprehensible clues with physics equations scribbled illegibly.

He began to become more and more convinced this was all an elaborate plot of Elizabeth's when he drew Teyla's name from the proverbial hat. Since Ronon had opted out, and Teyla had declined on behalf of the Athosians, she was the only alien involved in the proceedings. What did one get for a woman who quite literally had everything she needed?

"Are you doing Secret Santa?" he asked Rodney casually over lunch.

Rodney, not entirely unexpectedly, rolled his eyes and exhaled sharply. "In case you hadn't noticed, and I severely doubt you had, I have much more important things to do than write cute, rhyming clues leading some hapless Marine to some food that I could be eating myself. It's not my job to coddle the homesick." He blinked. "Why, did Elizabeth talk you into it?"

To be honest, John didn't really remember much of the meeting that had somehow gotten his name on the list. "I have Teyla. Don't tell her."

"Because I really care about your ridiculous little exercise," scoffed Rodney, then shoved a loaded spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and looked at John. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "Any ideas?"

"You're supposed to be the almighty seducer of women. Shouldn't you know?"

John counted to ten in his mind. "I'm not trying to _seduce_ her, McKay," he said with barely restrained frustration. "It's Secret Santa. I just want to make it a nice experience for her."

"What does Teyla like? Sticks? Leather? Kicking your ass, I suppose, you could give her that..."

"Yes, thank you."

"Do you want my help or not?"

"This is what you call helping?"

"This is what I call being pestered and being interrupted from doing more important things than Elizabeth's insane little holiday experiment. Look, Teyla's not going to care about stocking stuffers, and she's not going to be impressed by whatever grand gesture you usually pull on your hapless conquests."

John sort of resented the comment. In retribution, he dug his spoon into Rodney's bowl and stole a bite of oatmeal. He didn't know where Rodney got the cinnamon-like spice that he secretly injected into his food, but he always had the best breakfast. John licked the spoon clean and jammed it back into the bowl.

"Um, ew," said Rodney.

John smiled lazily and got to his feet. "Gotta go."

The project —for which the committee had bandied about the codenames 'Operation Good Cheer' and 'A Very Non-Denominational Holiday' (until John pointed out irritably the last one didn't even make any _sense_, it was like saying 'A Very Thursday')— was scheduled to take place over three days, with the reveal on the evening of the third day. Rodney had pointed out, since he was apparently the expert, that it was hardly enough time to slowly reveal a Santa's identity as was the ultimate goal. Elizabeth had pointed out, since she was actually the leader of the expedition, that resources were limited.

Even before going to Rodney for help, which had been his original intent, if John was being totally honest, he'd known what he was giving Teyla for the first day. It was sheer luck no one had sniffed out the last vestiges of the chocolate rations he'd received from the last _Daedalus_ drop-off, but John still had a candy bar or two tucked away in his room, while most everyone had gobbled through their stash in a matter of days. It would hurt to give up his reserve, which he'd been saving as a pick-me-up from the next mission that would inevitably suck hard, but figured Teyla would recognize the sacrifice being made and would appreciate it. Not that she ever took anything for granted.

It was the other two days that were iffy. Teyla didn't need anything, and didn't want anything. Even if she did, it wasn't as though he had boundless resources with which to fulfill every desire. So, he had to come up with something.

Rodney was right, though John was loath to admit it. To make Teyla's Very Non-Denominational Holiday special, he'd have to do something she'd appreciate. Maybe he could make her something. The Athosians weren't quite as hands-on as the Satedans, from what Ronon had told him, but they still appreciated the significance of handmade gifts. It was doable.

So that afternoon, after hiding the chocolate in Teyla's room (he was taking a risk going in there in the first place, but he took a bigger risk in hiding delicious perishables in someplace open like the training room), John retreated to his own quarters with a pile of clay borrowed from Ronon and set to work sculpting a... whatever.

The problem with the clay was, it was home-brewed and quick-setting. John had to come up with a shape fast, before he was left with a hardened and useless lump. He was torn between form and function. Teyla valued practicality, so maybe something like a bowl would work. Then again, since she came from a culture that only had what they needed, maybe she would appreciate something decorative (but ultimately useless). In the end, his sculpture looked sort of like a frog.

Dinner at the end of Day One found Teyla in a very good mood when she sat down.

Rodney clearly remembered breakfast and was now using his forearm to shield his tray from John, glancing up at him every five seconds as he hunched over his meatloaf. John just smiled innocently and filled his fork with mashed potatoes. He glanced at Ronon's tray and wondered how long it had been going on that the man got bigger portions than John.

"What's with her?" Ronon asked when he realized John was looking. He pointed his fork, held European style, over John's shoulder at Teyla. She was smiling into her potatoes.

"Dunno," said John, studiously avoiding Rodney's eyes so as not to give himself away. "Teyla?"

"I got a present from my Secret Santa," she said, eyes glittering. "A Hershey's bar."

"Oh," said all the men collectively, because chocolate was such a rare commodity these days that it was only natural it'd produce such a reaction.

"I didn't know anyone still had any," said Rodney, his voice narrowed into a sharp point, and he kicked John under the table.

"Well, I guess just Teyla does now," said John. He smiled at her quickly. "Cool." He hadn't seen her grin quite like that in awhile, and he was sort of proud he could provoke the reaction, even if it was the universal love of chocolate doing it, and not him. John catalogued Day One as a success.

"I will share some with all of you after dinner," Teyla said generously, and Rodney perked at this. Even Ronon straightened in his chair slightly, but John reached out and threw his hand over Teyla's arm.

"Don't," he said. "It's your present. We don't need any."

She cocked her head at him and regarded him with an expression that suggested he was completely alien. Which, he supposed, he was. "It _is_ my present, John," she agreed. "And as such, I would like to share my good fortune with my friends."

It was one of those situations where John wasn't going to win. "Well, okay," he said finally. "Thanks for the offer, but I won't take any. I'd feel too guilty." After dinner, he watched her split her bar into three identical pieces, and pass one across to Rodney, and one past John to Ronon, and he couldn't stop himself from watching the progression of the candy hungrily. Still, he kept his eyes on Teyla as she took a small bite of her share, watched her eyes close in pleasure as she enjoyed her present.

John's own present was tucked just outside of his door when he returned to his quarters at night. It could have been dropped off at any time, since he hadn't been in the room since sometime that morning, when he'd finished setting Teyla's sculpture thing. His present was an expensive-looking pen, with the almost illegible note 'so you can work on your reports.' Maybe he was irritable about being reminded of the stack of mission reports he had to complete and sign off on, or maybe he was just bothered by refusing Teyla's offering of Hershey's, but he was in no mood to try and figure out when the gift was left, or by whom, and he went to bed baffled.

The sculpture thing was waiting for Teyla in the training room when she went in for her session with Lorne at the head of Day Two. It was wrapped hastily in paper John had borrowed from Elizabeth's desk, came complete with a folded note that read 'I hope you won't share this with anyone else.' John thought it was an appropriate clue, since there were a number of people who had probably seen Teyla share her candy with her team.

John wasn't scheduled to stick fight for a few days yet, so there was no point in lounging around the gym, unless he particularly wanted to raise suspicion. Instead, he holed himself up in his room to use his own present and finish up his mission reports. He wasn't great with time management, so they'd built up since the last batch he'd finished, and the whole process was taking longer than he would have liked. Plus, he'd set aside a few to be recopied, since he'd gotten so bored going through various trade agreements that he'd ended up doodling in the margins.

He went to a briefing with Elizabeth, Lorne, Rodney, Carson, and half of the medical department as they discussed seasonal inoculations. It was probably important, but it made John wish he'd brought his reports to finish up the doodle he'd been doing of the skyline of a moon settlement they'd visited last month. He was no artist, but he thought it looked pretty good.

Rodney cut off his argument with Carson about the size of the needles the doctors liked to use in order to accompany John to the commissary. Teyla and Ronon were already there, the expression on the former's face a sharp contrast from her joy of the day before. "What happened?" John asked Ronon.

Ronon shrugged, but Teyla answered. "It is my Secret Santa," she said, and produced from the pocket of her BDUs the small clay thing John had labored over. She lay it on the table between their trays.

Ronon obviously recognized his own clay, but John didn't think he was going to be exposed just yet. Instead, all Ronon said was, "What is it?" and cocked his eyebrow in John's direction.

John peered at the statuette. "I have no idea," he said honestly, because while yesterday he would have claimed an animal of some sort, in the bright commissary lights, it didn't look like anything recognizable.

"It is a frog," said Teyla glumly. When the Athosians had first arrived, Teyla, Halling, and Aniel had sat down with the biologists and went into a long, detailed history about animal life on various Pegasus planets. John had been reasonably sure he remembered frogs from the list, which was why he had ended up selecting it as his subject. That, and it seemed reasonably easy to mold from clay.

"What's the big deal?" said Rodney, around a mouthful of mac and cheese. "Unless you're ranidaphobic, which is silly."

"Fear of frogs," John supplied the answer to Ronon's bemused expression.

"I am not," she said. "Frogs are gentle creatures. However, for a man to give a frog to a woman, it suggests a desire to procreate."

John almost choked on the sip of water he'd foolishly taken. "Oh," he said. "Well, um, Teyla..."

But before he could figure out what to say to salvage the situation, she had gotten to her feet. "Please excuse me," she said distantly. "I need to contemplate this."

"Right," he said, flicking his hand in her direction in an incomprehensible gesture. "Of course. Um, go." But while he was almost glad to get rid of Teyla before he had the chance to do or say anything particularly embarrassing, he was now left behind with Ronon and Rodney, both of whom now knew he was Teyla's Secret Santa and had given her the frog of sexual suggestion, and both of whom were staring at him.

"Sheppard?" said Ronon questioningly.

"I didn't _know_, okay?" John said. "I have... limited art skills. Frogs are cute. I... stop _looking_ at me like that, McKay, I have no desire to father Teyla's children!"

"You couldn't have given her a bowl or something?" said Rodney.

"And what the hell is up with frogs as a symbol of fertility, anyway?" said John. "Wouldn't a rabbit be more appropriate?"

"Hell if I know how those people's minds work. You need to fix this by tomorrow," said Rodney, "or else you'll probably have to end up marrying her. And then we'll all have to deal with a bunch of tiny Sheppards running around, and... oh, God, the image is too horrible to contemplate."

John ignored this and turned to Ronon, hoping he didn't sound too much like he was begging. "Ronon? Ideas?"

Ronon shrugged with a 'don't pass this off on me' expression. "You're on your own."

"Fat lot of good you are." John squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Yesterday had gone so _well_, how could he have screwed this up? He figured at this point, the only option was to somehow con one of the Marines into switching with him, and playing it off like the frog-thing was his.

Teyla would have to understand he hadn't known. How could he know that what in his culture had been one of the almighty plagues of Egypt would in her culture be the equivalent of edible panties? She couldn't fault him for his own ignorance.

He hadn't thought it possible, but the day somehow managed to go even further south when he finally returned to his room for some deep, meditative thought about Christmas presents. His present was waiting for him outside of his door: a stack of paper, neat, creamy, official. The top sheet bore the same scrawl as yesterday, a note John finally translated as, 'so you can stop stealing Elizabeth's.' John didn't know which was more bothersome, that he had a stalker who knew his paper-borrowing habits, or that anyone on the expedition would think to give him paper in the first place.

At least they weren't suggesting they wanted to mate with him.

John decided some time apart from the situation might offer him some clarity, so he set back to work on finishing his reports. Well, his doodle. It was only after he'd added turrets to one of the main buildings that he actually looked at was on the paper and got an idea.

His words entered Elizabeth's office before he did. "I need to borrow a jumper."

"You're not scheduled for a mission," she said, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth as she folded her hands in her lap and leaned back in her chair.

"I know. I have to... do some last-minute holiday shopping."

"How like a man," she said, now full on grinning at him.

He decided not to take offense. "Hey, this whole thing was _your_ idea in the first place," he pointed out. "I'm just going to the trading station on Detyn." He debated how much he might regret his next sentence, before finally biting the bullet and saying, "Do you need anything?"

"Actually, I do," she said, continuing to grin at him without mercy. "Would you mind picking me up a bottle of that nice ink? And thank you for asking."

"I live to serve," he said. "See you in a few hours."

He decided against telling anyone else he was going, for fear that he'd walk away with a giant laundry list of things to bring back. And it was just as well, because even though only Atlantis was observing an Earth calendar, Detyn was crammed with what could be considered holiday traffic. John almost had to fight his way through a crowd to the vendor supplying the sweet honey wine that Teyla had fallen in love with the last time they'd dropped by this planet. John picked up a liberal amount, enough to soothe over any bruised egos that would indefinitely come with tomorrow's awkward confrontation, then scored some of Elizabeth's ink on his way back to the gate. He moved fast, anxious to get the day the hell over with.

John borrowed a sheet from the stack of gift paper he'd received to write his final Secret Santa note to Teyla. No one could argue with the blatant honesty behind it: 'I think we all need a drink right about now.' He dropped it off before he had the time to think too hard about it, then settled into his pile of mission reports. He was sort of hoping he'd die from paper cuts in the night, so he wouldn't have to go to the party and explain to Teyla why he wasn't going to be breeding with her.

The following morning found a large jug of honey wine sitting outside of Teyla's quarters, but while it disappeared, presumably inside her room, Teyla herself wasn't seen all day. She was not at breakfast, nor in the gym, she made no requests to visit the mainland, and since lunch was canceled in favor of setting up for the holiday party, John didn't see her then, either. Of course, John hadn't even gone to lunch, choosing to avoid the whole situation in favor of locking himself in the room to work on the last of the mission reports. He didn't know how Teyla was taking the whole situation, and since he didn't yet know what to say to her, he figured it was best not to try.

When the thirty-seven Secret Santa participants had finally gathered in the commissary, plus those who were angling for food, like Rodney and Ronon, Elizabeth launched into the festivities. She called on each person individually, and had them try to guess who their Secret Santa was. Some turns took longer than others, as people got into lengthy discussions on how they went about hiding the gifts and scripting the clues. Dr. Treadway had apparently sent Lt. Suggs on a lengthy scavenger hunt all over the North pier. Some of the Santas felt the need to announced to everyone precisely what they had received, and that was what worried John. He was torn between trying to edge closer to Teyla to talk to her before her turn, and running the hell away from the entire thing. Rumors were vicious in Atlantis, and he didn't need everyone to know that John Sheppard had propositioned Teyla Emmagen with a clay amphibian.

"Teyla?" called Elizabeth, and her voice was just mirthful enough that John _knew_ Rodney had told her. Crap, crap, crap. "Who do you think you have?"

The thing about having your name called later was the systematic elimination of possible contenders, if you were paying attention. A benefit for the guesser who didn't have a clue, but a boon for John, who was running out of people he could pretend it was instead of him.

"I do not know," said Teyla, and John was too far away from her to read her face. Her voice was deceptively even.

Elizabeth was definitely biting back a smile. "Well, did you—" she began.

"It was me," John burst out quickly, before Elizabeth could ask Teyla to divulge any juicy details. He scanned the crowd quickly, trying to figure out who was smirking knowledgably so he could eliminate them later.

"Ah," said Teyla, blinking at him serenely, her face an utter mask.

Elizabeth, mercifully, had moved onto the next person on her list, Dr. Strahl from Carson's team, and John used the lull to approach Teyla. "Can we talk?" he asked quietly.

She studied him. "Yes, I suppose we must," she said. With a wince, John suddenly remembered what missive he'd written on his second note to Teyla. 'I hope you won't share this with anyone else.' Which, paired with the apparent symbolism of the frog, not to mention _wine_ and _chocolate_, clearly sent the message, I am in love with you and intend to make you mine. What the hell had he _done_?

"Um, Teyla," he attempted.

"Your gifts were very generous," she said. "I am grateful."

"Teyla, I'm sorry about the whole frog thing," he said quickly, before she had the chance to backhand him for his audacity in trying to pick her up.

"I assume you did not know the significance of such a gift," she said.

"Uh, no. I wasn't planning on being a father any time soon."

One of Teyla's eyebrows arched slowly, and he wondered when he'd contracted Rodney's foot-in-mouth disease. "Would I not be a suitable mate, Col. Sheppard?" she said coolly.

_Crap_. "Well, yes, I'm sure you would, but that is a very complex issue that I don't think any of us are quite ready to discuss." It was diplomatic and non-offensive. So what if it maybe painted him into the corner of having to talk about it later? He didn't care. Just so long as it un-painted him out of the corner he was in now. "You know," he said, his mouth apparently not finished although his brain was pretty sure he was, "what with the whole working together thing, and everything."

Shut up, he cautioned himself, and prayed that Ronon or Rodney or Elizabeth or anyone would realize he was completely floundering over here and running the risk of completely ripping their alliance with the Athosians apart, and come and rescue him. "Of course," she said, and with a flush of hot if not premature relief, he recognized the hints of a smile in her voice.

"So you're not offended?"

"It was a misunderstanding," she said. "And the chocolate was much appreciated."

"I notice that I actually gave you two bars, and you only shared one," he teased.

"Do not push your luck, John."

Before he could officially end this disastrous holiday experiment, John had one last stop to make, then he was going to his room and taking a well-deserved nap. Elizabeth was already in her office, even as the party raged on, as though she'd anticipated his arrival. "Here," said John, rubbing his forehead with one hand and dropping a stack of finished reports on Elizabeth's desk with the other.

He wasn't sure what sort of reaction he'd been expecting. Surprise, maybe, because usually she had to remind him quite a few times to get reports done. But instead, Elizabeth was just smiling at him smugly. "What?" he felt prompted to ask.

"Did you ever figure out who your Secret Santa was?" she said.

Honestly, in his attempts to pull himself out of the self-dug hole, he'd completely forgotten about it. "No," he said. "Hey, weren't you supposed to call my name?"

"I was a bit preoccupied," she admitted. "I hope you'll forgive me. Although I did find this, I believe it's yours?" Elizabeth extracted a small package from her desk and pushed it over to him. John opened it carefully, only to discover the ink bottle from the market inside.

"What the..."

"I had Chuck write the notes."

"You weren't even _doing_ Secret Santa," he said.

"I know. But I already got my present," she said. She patted the stack of reports and smiled.

Next year, John was going back on the _Daedalus_.


End file.
